


Good Medicine

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, THC edibles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: With Brakebills exams coming up, Eliot has a cure for Quentin's anxiety that leads to an intimate encounter.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	Good Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own The Magicians, etc etc. This is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic: enjoy!

“Quentin, what’s wrong? My God, you look awful.” 

Quentin looked up from a jumble of books. Notebooks and papers sat in Seussian stacks on either side of the coffee table in the Physical Kids cottage, making bookends of Quentin’s pale face. His tawny, shoulder-length hair looked tangled and unwashed. 

“Thanks,” Quentin replied in a flat tone as he turned a page. Eliot noticed a tremor in his friend’s right hand and tossed a large fringed pillow aside so he could sit on the couch. 

“What I mean is, you look troubled. Is there something I can help you with?” 

Quentin threw his pen down and pushed his hair back with both hands. 

“My first major written exam is coming up and there’s so much to remember! The Poppers, the spells, all the languages and the Circumstances for casting--” he swallowed hard. “And--and when I first got here, Dean Fogg had me surrender my meds. I think it was a mistake, El, because right now I feel like I really, really need them.” 

“I see.” Eliot reached over and closed the book Quentin had been reading. 

“Hey!”

“Come with me,” Eliot said, taking Quentin’s hand with that casual air he had, not even registering his friend’s startled glance. 

“Where are we going?” Quentin asked as Eliot led him toward the stairway and up it, to his room. Once there, Eliot shut and warded the door. Quentin had been in the room a handful of times before, but the way Eliot cast on the door now made his pulse quicken. 

“El . . .” 

“Oh relax Q, I didn’t bring you here to take advantage! I have that scheduled for over the summer, when I have you all to myself.” 

Quentin blushed but that didn’t make Eliot retract his statement as he opened the nightstand drawer. 

“But--” 

“Have a seat on the bed there,” Eliot said as he took something from the drawer. Quentin sat as he heard thick paper crinkle. Eliot came to sit with him, a brightly-colored package in one hand. Quentin spied THC at the top, just under the resealable plastic zipper. 

“Are those--” 

“Marijuana candies? Yes.” Eliot tapped two pink hard candies into his palm and plucked one up. 

“Open,” he said, tapping Quentin’s lips with one finger. 

“El, I don’t know--” 

“Shhh. Open.” 

Quentin relented and opened his mouth. Eliot set the candy on his tongue. 

“There. Don’t crunch it up, just let it dissolve.” Eliot popped the other one into his mouth and rummaged around in another drawer until he came up with a hairbrush and a bottle of something liquid, the contents a light citrine color. 

“Whassat?” Quentin asked around the candy in his mouth which, he had to admit, tastes pleasantly of blue cotton candy and THC oil as he rolled it around on his tongue. 

“Almond oil,” Eliot replied as he added a few drops to the hairbrush and knelt behind Quentin. “You need some grooming, sweetie, no offense.” 

“I’m not a poodle,” Quentin muttered as Eliot began to brush the tangles from his hair. The almond oil has a sweet, pleasant odor though, and he didn’t pull away or protest as Eliot ran the bristles through his hair and the world’s edges took on a softer feel. 

“That’s not what I mean, Q,” Eliot smiled. “I mean that you should--that is, take more care with your appearance, even in moments of crisis. It’s how we rise above.” Eliot gathered the tawny tresses and examined the ends before materializing a pair of scissors in his left hand. 

“Oh.” Quentin lifted a shoulder. “It doesn’t really matter.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Cos most times I’m invisible to people. They don’t notice me.” 

“I notice you,” Eliot said as he trimmed the ends of Quentin’s hair. “I notice you very much, Q.” 

“Stop, you do not.” 

“I might embellish some things, but when it comes to attraction, I don’t.” He pulled Quentin’s hair into a neat ponytail. 

“Uhm . . . attraction?” 

“Mmmhmm. Don’t you know, Q, how handsome you are?” 

“Bullshit,” Quentin laughed, and Eliot set the brush down to swing his legs down off the bed before rounding Quentin and facing him. The younger man blinked as Eliot touched his face. 

“I know it sounds like a line. But I mean it, Q--look, come here.” He tugged Quentin off the bed and over to his full-length mirror. Quentin glanced away and Eliot touched his chin, lifting his head. “Quit looking away from yourself! Come on . . . when was the last time you looked at your reflection? I mean truly looked?” 

“I don’t know,” Quentin touched the ponytail Eliot had fashioned. “Where did you learn to do this?” 

“Having women friends, mostly, but you’re changing the subject, Quentin Coldwater.” He traced Quentin’s jawline with a long finger. “Look at this lovely jawline! So masculine--that’s a profile to die for! And your eyes . . . Q, you’re beautiful!” They looked into the mirror together. “That mouth . . .” 

“What about it?” Quentin asked as the edible made the corners of his world even less defined. His exams seemed less threatening somehow, far away, no longer pressing. 

“Truth?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“That day we met and you looked up at me after stumbling out of the woods? After I escorted you to the test, I described you in length to Margo and said it would be a shame if you failed it and never got the chance to talk you into letting me kiss you.” 

“Oh.” Quentin stepped a bit closer to the mirror. “Uhm . . . can I ask you something?” 

“Of course, Q.” 

“Do you still want to talk me into letting you kiss me?” 

“Very much,” Eliot nodded, and Quentin turned toward him. 

“I’m convinced,” he replied, and Eliot took the edible pouch from his pocket to shake out two more pieces. He put one between his lips and leaned down in deference to his and Quentin’s height difference. Quentin plucked it up with own lips and Eliot claimed them with a sigh of one who has waited a long time for something to occur. He coaxed desire and a growing delight from Quentin’s lips and the younger man gripped Eliot’s arms as the other man’s scent mingled with the taste of the cotton candy edible. When Eliot pulled back, Quentin stared up at him. 

“I’ve never kissed another guy before.” 

“Speaking as the first another guy, you did very well.” Eliot popped the other edible into his mouth and touched Quentin’s face. “Promise me you won’t overthink it when the edibles wear off?” 

“I’ll do my best,” Quentin replied as he moved away from the mirror and sat on the edge of the bed, his pulse humming merrily in his ears. “And thank you-- I feel much better.” 

“Fogg has some strange ideas about modern medicine and magic. I’d be willing to bet you aren’t the only one off your meds because the dean took them away.” 

Quentin swung his feet up onto Eliot’s bed and wiggled his sock-clad toes. 

“I guess some cope with booze, drugs, maybe sex.” 

Eliot nodded as he removed his loafers and laid down next to Quentin. 

“Everyone has their own technique.” He turned to face Quentin. “Margo would tell you I cope by seducing cute first-year boys . . . cute first-year boys with dark eyes and gorgeous lips.” He touched his lips to Quentin’s, who returned the kiss and gave Eliot a contemplative smile. 

“Want to hear something about me?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’m a first-year boy in more than one way.” He reached up and curled a lock of Eliot’s hair around one finger, admiring the shape and softness of the dark, curly lock. 

“You mean you’re a virgin?” 

“Uh huh,” Quentin nodded. “I never even did the circle jerk thing cos I only ever had two friends all through high school and college, and one was a girl.” Quentin shook his head. “Then they started dating the start of our sophomore year so I third-wheeled it right up until we graduated from Columbia U.” 

“I think you’d be surprised how few people ever masturbated with their friends. In fact, I’d say it happens more in the movies than in everyday life.” 

“Did you ever?” Quentin asked, his thoughts shifting into first gear, the usual racing inner monologue silenced for now. Eliot chuckled, his tongue tinted blue from the second edible. 

“No. My father would have taken me to the man who used to geld our horses and had me taken care of immediately. But I did use to jerk off solo in our barn’s hayloft . . . dad never built stairs but there was a rope ladder. I’d climb up, pull the ladder up behind me, unzip, and think about George Michael.” 

Quentin imagined the silence of a hayloft during a late afternoon in summer, the sweet smell of hay permeating the air, dust motes and tiny bits of hay floating and visible in wide shafts of sunlight spilling through unfinished windows . . . and Eliot, leaning against a hay bale, legs spread, fly open, his cock flushed and dripping. Quentin blinked at the sudden clarity of the image and how quickly his cock stiffened at it. 

“I used to fantasize about getting sucked off and fingered.” Eliot glanced down at Quentin’s tented khakis. “You have a hardon,” he smiled, and Quentin mentally glanced around for his inhibitions. Nothing--an echoing, authoritative voice told him they had left the building. 

“If I do it’s because you’re talking about getting sucked off and fingered!” 

“I can take care of it for you if you like,” Eliot offered, and Quentin stared up into those warm amber eyes. Not only had his inhibitions left the building, but the building was also empty, dark and the janitor had locked up and gone home hours ago. 

“Just . . . don’t quit talking. Tell me how you used to do it. In the hayloft, I mean.” 

“My pleasure.” Eliot unzipped his own fly and then Quentin’s, smiling as Quentin gave a small cry of desire at his touch, He gave Quentin his favored hand, the left, and touched himself with the right. “I used to go up there after school, when I knew my dad was out in the fields and wouldn’t be back until supper. I favored the far rear corner where no one could see me if they came into the barn and happened to glance up into the loft. It was always warm up there . . .” Eliot freed Quentin’s cock from his pants and ran his thumb over the head, watching him shiver. “I’d fantasize about getting backstage at one of George’s concerts and him coaxing me into his dressing room--me, a naive teenager and this gorgeous older man. He’d push me into a chair, spread my legs, unzip my fly. I was always ready, even though I’d never really been with anyone. I’d imagine his mouth on me, eager and wanting.” He stroked Quentin’s erection as he spoke, toying with the head until the younger man’s hips twisted upward and he made a low, needy sound in his throat. 

_“Mhhhh . . .”_

“Good, hmm?” Eliot asked, working his long fingers around Quentin’s erection, watching the tip bead with fluid. He leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Do you want me to use some lube? Touch you there?” 

“Yes,” Quentin moaned, and Eliot pulled a small bottle of lube from the nightstand, clicking the top open with one thumb. 

“Get those pants off for me, sweetie,” Eliot said, and Quentin lifted his hips long enough to tug his pants and boxers down. Eliot watched his dark eyes, full of desire and dopamine, gleam up at him. Eliot coated one finger, then two, and slid them down to press up against Quentin’s tight hole. 

“ _Ohhhh_ . . .?” Quentin breathed, and Eliot gently pushed in one, then another. He watched Quentin chase the sensations, his breathing picking up, and it made his own erection drip. 

“That’s it, Q . . . just relax and feel; it. You’re going to come so hard--” he angled his fingers back until he hit Quentin’s sweet spot and Quentin’s hips bucked. 

“Fuck!” He moaned. Eliot fucked him with two fingers and then leaned over to swirl his tongue around the dripping head of Quentin’s cock. The smaller man tensed, muscles fluttering at the base of his belly. “El . . . El . . .” He whimpered, and Eliot lowered his head, taking in what he could. A wordless cry tore from Quentin’s throat as he rode that all-consuming feeling of orgasm--the lift, the breath-stealing muscle contractions, the flood of pleasure that beat the shit out of any medication he’d ever taken. He felt like Eliot was consuming him. Once the spasms started to pass and Eliot pulled away to take care of himself, Quentin sat up and pulled him close, kissing and licking Eliot’s erection with eagerness if not experience. The sight made Eliot's head whirl--he’d hoped his attraction to Quentin wasn’t one-sided and that maybe one day they would explore these feelings together, but he’d never imagined Quentin reacting this way. His lips and tongue explored the stiff length of his erection and then he pulled back slightly as it began to jerk and fountain. Quentin’s eyes widened but then he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue out like he was trying to catch snowflakes. As Eliot watched, Quentin let his come paint his chin and neck. 

“Fuck!” Eliot hitched the word out as his cock gave one last dribble and then wilted. Quentin smiled up at him and Eliot pulled a clean handkerchief into one hand to clean his chin and neck. “You, Quentin Coldwater, are full of surprises.” 

“I wanted to make you feel as good as you made me feel.” 

“Q, sweetie,” Eliot smiled as he tossed his pants and boxers into a nearby hamper before wiping himself off and slipping under the covers with Quentin. The edibles made questions about what this made them fragmented and almost unimportant so he tugged Quentin close and pulled his hair free from the ponytail so he could run his hand through it. Quentin gave a pleased sigh and rested his head on Eliot’s chest, still riding his own high. 

_Sometimes_ , Eliot thought to himself as he listened to Quentin’s breathing find its pattern of sleep, _the best kinds of medicine come from the most unlikely of places._

  
  



End file.
